How Did We Get Here?
by dcfg21
Summary: Sherlock and John are happily married with a son. A look back on how they got here, indeed. Rated M for future slash. Maybe heartwarming if you squint.
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock, will you please tell your son that if he insists upon bringing nicked body parts to school and then setting them on fire in the chemistry lab, he will be looking at the introduction of a private tutor on his grandmother's estate in the near future."

"My son?" Sherlock frowned at his husband and son. "Why's it he's always 'my son' when he gets in trouble?"

"Because I've never been asked to leave a primary school. Six times in one calendar year," John said, glaring. "This is clearly _your_ area."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the boy, who stood unflinching beneath his father's steely gaze. "Hamish?"

"Yes, Father?"

"I believe we discussed the proper environs for conducting experiments, did we not?"

"We did, Father. On several occasions."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Yes, several. And what was the outcome of these conversations?"

"Experiments are never to be conducted at school, only at home, and under the direction of either you, Daddy, or Mummy." Hamish waited.

Sherlock's eyebrow rose.

"Uncle Mycroft's things, credit report, and his person are never to be used as a subject," the corners of the boy's cupid's bow turned up, "again."

"Go on."

"I am never to be allowed unsupervised when visiting Mummy at her work, because lying in wait in the morgue drawers to judge reactions upon realizing a body previously thought to be dead is, in fact, not dead, is not an experiment; it's just rude."

"And?"

"Things in locked cabinets are locked away for a reason; it should not be considered a personal challenge to unlock them. And just because I unlock them, because I always unlock them, does not mean the contents now belong to me." The little boy's eyes narrowed in a manner just like Sherlock's.

"Finally?"

Hamish sighed and rolled his eyes. "Boredom is no excuse for destruction."

"And having recalled all of this, Hamish Watson-Holmes, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, Father. The facts speak for themselves. Although, I will say in my defense, someone moved my Bunsen burner. The drapes never would have caught fire otherwise. And who puts drapes in a chemistry lab? Honestly."

John rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "To your room, Hamish. We'll call you for dinner."

Hamish looked sheepishly at his other parent. "Yes, Daddy."

John's eyes turned to Sherlock as the boy crept up the stairs. "I'm still blaming you for this, you know."

"I think I can live with that," Sherlock replied.

John sank down onto the sofa next to his husband, threw back his head and sighed again. "Oh, Sherlock. How did we get here?"


	2. Chapter 2

"John, I've decided we should have a baby."

John flicked back the corner of the newspaper to stare at his husband. "I realize you've become decidedly more progressive since we've been together, Sherlock, but speaking as a doctor, I don't think modern science has quite caught up to the possibilities imagined by your brain."

"Very funny. Domestic bliss has made you positively droll."

John folded the paper and tossed it on the coffee table. "I'm not the one bandying about babies out of the blue like I've just suggested we wallpaper the kitchen."

Sherlock shifted on the sofa, piercing him with a pointed gaze. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Of course I've thought about it," John replied. "Didn't think it was something you would be interested in, that's all. You've never been fond of children. And we've only been married a year."

"Eleven months, two weeks, three days."

"Fine, less than a year. You see my point?"

"True, and no," Sherlock conceded. "As of late I find I can't seem to get the idea out of my head."

John's lips pursed and he moved to the sofa, gathering up armfuls of Sherlock and snuggling in. "Is this what has you distracted lately?" He threaded his fingers through Sherlock's silky mop of curls, running them lightly over his scalp.

The taller man let out a contented sigh and leaned into the caress. "Yes," he admitted. "I don't know why. I've been having a devil of a time trying to sort it all out. Figure out what it means. Perhaps my biological clock is ticking."

John chuckled and pressed a kiss into his hair. "If you're feeling the need to spread your seed, we could always go upstairs."

"I'm serious, John."

Another chuckle. "So am I."

"John," Sherlock said, exasperated, into the crook of his shoulder, "I'm trying to have a dialogue about this. Isn't that what you keep telling me couples do? Don't I keep seeing treacle like that in those magazines Molly leaves around the morgue?"

"You're right," John sighed, tucking him in closer. "I'm just taking the piss. Go on, tell me what you're feeling, and we'll discuss it."

"I'm more interested in how you feel."

John sighed and leaned back, crossing his ankles on the coffee table. "I think the decision to have a child is a major one. I also think you need to examine your reasoning behind why you think it's important."

Sherlock raised his head to look him in the eye. Those grey-green depths danced to shades of blue, a shifting of color that only happened when Sherlock became overcome with emotion. It was a phenomenon that occurred more often than not in the bedroom. It was an occurrence that never ceased to make John's heart clench in awe.

"I've been thinking about love, John," he said. "And family. All the trappings of normal life that seem to come so easily to others. I've learned that I am capable of love. And that I am worthy of love."

"Yes, you are," John murmured.

"Precisely. This fact has opened me to a host of other emotions, feelings." His voice was low, firm. He placed a long, graceful hand over John's heart. "There is so much love here, John. So much. Between you and I. And it is wonderful." John felt a lump rise in his throat as Sherlock's voice moved to reverence. "I want to share that. I want to take everything that is perfect and good between us and make something tangible out of it. Something that could only be born of the love we share. Something extraordinary."

John blinked rapidly, quelling the tears that were threatening to spring forth at Sherlock's unabashed declaration. "And you think a child—"

"Isn't that what a child is? What a child should be? The physical manifestation of a deep and abiding love between two people who are committed to each other and their bond. I realize people have children left and right these days, but a child, _our_ child, would be created in an atmosphere that was designed for it. Can you think of a better reason? I've tried, and I can't. We have so much love, John. So much, our hearts can't contain it all. Why not pour that love into a child and see the beauty that results?"

The tear escaped the corner of his eye and he wiped it away with the back of his hand and a sniffle. "That was eloquently put, Sherlock. And it is the best reason to have a child. But—"

"We can provide for a child," Sherlock blurted. "I can see you turning that over in your head. We have the luxury of a trust I've barely touched. Mycroft only cut me off when I was dealing with the addiction, but we know all of that is long past. There's enough to support us and a child for the rest of our lives. A good use of the funds, I'd say. We can always continue to work, though. I know your work is important to you."

John's eyes cleared a little. "Okay, so financially, we're good. But, what about the cases? The danger? You want to subject a child—"

Sherlock sat up, serious. "I've considered this," he interrupted. "I can still consult, I can still work. I have the advantage of choosing which cases to take. The danger was born of boredom. My brain has discovered it works better when the heart is engaged. With you, I am constantly engaged. A child will only serve to add to that. Think of the things we have to teach." His eyes were bright and sparkling. "Think about it, John. We have so much to offer."

John reached out a hand to stroke his husband's cheek. "You've really thought about this, haven't you?"

"It has consumed me. What do you say, John? Will you have a baby with me?

John's heart swelled in his chest so hard, he feared it would burst. He hadn't thought it was possible to love this man any more than he already did, but in the space of this poignant moment, he realized Sherlock was right. There was far too much love for just the two of them. His face broke into a smile so wide, his cheeks ached with it.

"Yes, Sherlock. I would be honored to have a baby with you."

Sherlock pounced, wrapping himself around John in a long tangle of limbs. "Oh, John. This makes me so happy. You can't even imagine."

John pulled back, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sherlock's forehead. "So, are you really thinking a baby, or should we adopt an older child?"

The dark mop shook. "No, John," he said, eyes sharp and intense. "I want us to _have_ a baby. Our baby."

John's brow furrowed. "Okay. Please tell me you realize that you and I cannot effectively create a child together."

Sherlock waved him off. "Of course. We'll use a surrogate."

"A surrogate?"

"That's what I said. Aren't you listening?" Sherlock's lips pursed in annoyance.

"Fine, the fact remains that you and I cannot both genetically contribute—"

"Really, John," Sherlock huffed.

"So you do realize that? Good. I was getting worried. But a surrogate? You want to ask a woman—"

"Not just a woman." Those eyes were sparkling again. "The perfect woman."

"Sherlock," John chided, "I looked for one of those for years. I don't think they exist."

"Nonsense," he scoffed.

"How do you propose we find this 'perfect woman'? And better still, once we've found her, how do we convince her to carry a child for us?"

Sherlock's smile was blindingly smug. "Simple. We already know her."

John's mind immediately began rifling through every single female they had ever encountered, the wash of feminine faces making his head swim. "I don't know—"

"Molly," he answered triumphantly.

"Molly Hooper?"

"Do you know another Molly?"

"No."

The smile got brighter, as if that were even possible. "Then there you have it. Molly Hooper."

John sat back, exhaling in an incredulous rush. "Jesus, Sherlock."

"She's perfect. She's the right age, she's strong and healthy, and not to mention she is the smartest woman we know. Think of the genes, John."

"First, you want to have a baby. Only it's not just having a baby, you want to _genetically engineer_ one with Molly Hooper? Have I got that right?"

"I wouldn't put it so rudely clinical, but yes. Isn't that part of how we're designed to choose potential mates for offspring? Don't we instinctually look for someone with the proper genetic protocol to ensure progeny of the highest caliber?" Sherlock replied.

"You make it all sound so Third Reich. We want to make a baby, not the master race."

Again with the waving hand. "Don't be tedious, John. Think about her. Really think about her. She's attractive, in her own subdued little way, though I will admit that's not a priority, but she possesses the fundamental criteria required of a good mother. She would make an excellent mother."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "You want her to be involved, then? With the life and rearing of this child?"

"Naturally. As wonderful as I think we would be as parents, a child should have a maternal influence, and Molly is endowed with those qualities. She's warm, loving, nurturing. She has a patient and endearing demeanor. I want our child to know its mother. And besides Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper is probably the only other woman in the world worth knowing. Molly fits the bill."

John thought a moment. Molly was all of those things, and she had become a large part of their lives over the years. She was known, familiar. Someone they both already cared for. The idea had definite merit. "And which one of us do you think should um…donate our genetic material to mingle with hers?"

Now Sherlock's face creased. "That is a more difficult question. The only one I haven't answered."

"Well, answer it."

He took a long moment, the machinations at work evident on his face as he thought. He blew out a long breath, nodded, and met John's gaze. "I think the world would be a much better place if there were more people like you in it." The rawness in Sherlock's face was heartbreaking.

"And not people like you?"

He sighed heavily. "For all I have accomplished, you have to admit, I am deeply flawed. Whether that is a product of nature or nurture, I do not know. I am unsure if that is a risk we should take."

"A risk we should take?" John exclaimed. "How-how can you say that, Sherlock?"

Whatever lingering excitement Sherlock was holding onto fled from his body. "You know me, John. You know how…difficult it has been for me to grow. You, on the other hand, are brave and loyal and good—"

"I'm not an Alsatian, you know."

"Oh, John, doesn't it make more sense for it to be you? My point being, you are a better man than I."

"Bollocks," John snorted. "You are a wonderful man. I married you, didn't I? That should count for something."

"Don't be shortsighted just because you love me. Think about—"

"There's nothing to think about," John shouted, throwing his hands up. "You are incredible! You have the most brilliant mind I have ever seen! And its capacity for knowledge is second only to the depths of your heart. You are a smart man, yes. But you are a good man. The best I've ever known. The only man I've ever loved. The kind of man who deserves a legacy."

Sherlock's lip quivered. "John."

John covered Sherlock's hands in his own. "While it pleases me to no end that you think what makes me _me_ is special and should be reproduced, I have to say that in this instance, I disagree." He pulled Sherlock in and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. "You can find a John Watson on every corner from here to Scotland. The world needs more men like Sherlock Holmes." He brushed his fingers over Sherlock's brow. "So, let's make that happen."

Sherlock's eyes welled with tears and he nodded. "Okay."

"Besides," John added, "we will be raising this child together. There will be more than enough opportunity for me to wield my staggering throw of influence." He sat back, smiling. "I think all that's left is to talk to Molly, don't you?"

Sherlock reached for his mobile and began to type.

"No, Sherlock," John frowned. "You are not going to ask Molly Hooper to have our baby by text."

"Why not? It's how I always communicate with her."

John snatched it and punched Molly's number into the phone, thrusting it back into Sherlock's hands. "Call the woman and arrange to do this face to face. Propriety, respect, and all that?"

Sherlock looked down at the phone with a glare.

"If you can't at least speak to her, this will never work. However will we coordinate Christmases?"

The glare was now directed at him.

"You can do this. I have faith in you."

"Really?"

"Call her."

Sherlock smacked a quick kiss on John's lips and hit send.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop fidgeting."

"I can't help it," Sherlock said, sneaking a glance into the sitting room from the kitchen.

"What are you nervous about? She's said yes, hasn't she? We've done all the hugging and kissing bit. Everything's fine." John rubbed a soothing hand over Sherlock's back. "Relax. Now take the woman her tea."

They adjourned back to the sitting room, Sherlock following behind John with the tray. He sat down in the chair, while Sherlock positioned himself on the sofa next to Molly.

"I suppose we should start with the logistics, yes?" John asked. "If you like, I can make inquiries at the surgery, or if you prefer to use your own doctor, Sherlock and I have no objections. Whatever is the most convenient and comfortable for you. We—"

Molly lifted a hand to stop him. "I'm sorry, John. I think you misunderstand. I appreciate your concern, but I have no intention of intervening medically with this conception. This child will be conceived naturally."

Sherlock choked on his tea. "Wh-what? What do you mean 'naturally'?"

John began to feel the world crumble beneath his feet as she continued.

"Sex, of course."

They both stared blankly at her.

"I want this child to be conceived by natural means. Which means intercourse. I'm not ruling out the possibility of needing medical help, should I fail to conceive after a number of tries, but as things go, this is where I stand."

"A -a number of tries?" John wheezed out. His throat was closing up at an alarming rate and suddenly Molly's voice sounded far off, distant, as if she were shouting down a long corridor.

"Well, unless we're lucky at our first go," she explained.

"First go?" Sherlock croaked, only slightly pale.

John sat back, aghast, his emotions swirling about like a kite in windstorm. "You're intending to have sex with Sherlock?" he managed. "Actual sex?"

"I don't think she means the fictitious kind," Sherlock snapped.

"Unless you've changed your mind about who should be the biological father? Have you? Because, that's fine with me if you have. I have no objection to either of you," Molly said calmly. "And if you have qualms about being with a woman, with me in particular…" She let the sentence trail.

"Well, this is absurd," Sherlock spluttered. "We thought—"

"I know what you thought," she cut in smoothly. "And I'm telling you otherwise. If you decide against this, don't worry. I understand this may be unacceptable to you, and should you choose not to go forward, there's no harm done." She placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's knee. "Really, I promise. I said yes because I love the both of you dearly, and I will help you in any way I can, including having this child. A child that will also be a part of me. So, I don't think I'm out of line in having some say at how this is accomplished."

"Yes, of course," John replied.

"You were quite passionate about your feelings on the subject, and I have to say that I agree with your summations. A child should be born of love, of two people expressing that. I know you're both…fond of me, or you wouldn't have asked me otherwise. It's simply that I love you both as well, not romantically of course, but as family. And that's sort of what we are, isn't it? Family?" Molly folded her hands and looked entreatingly at John, but it was Sherlock who nodded furiously and spoke.

"Yes." He reached out to grasp her hand. "We are family. And if this is your caveat, I accept the terms."

"What?" John exclaimed, sitting violently upright in the chair. "Sherlock?"

Molly gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze and she smiled, rising from the sofa. "You two have some talking to do, I see. Ring me when you've made a decision. Take your time." She bent and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek, gathering up her coat.

As she passed John, she leaned down and ghosted a kiss on his temple. "Talk about this," she whispered in his ear. "I'll understand, whatever you decide. Love you both."

She left the flat, leaving John to stare at Sherlock.

"Well, that was unexpected," he announced.

"Sherlock, you can't possibly—"

"Be entertaining the idea of having sexual intercourse for the purpose of conceiving a child with Molly Hooper? Well, I am."


	4. Chapter 4

"You're actually entertaining this?"

"I've moved past entertaining, John. I'm going to do it. Er…Molly, as it were."

"I don't know how to respond to that."

Sherlock sniffed delicately. "A thank you might be nice."

"A thank you?" John exclaimed. "You want me to thank you for your decision to have sex with someone else? A woman, at that?"

"Not just a woman," Sherlock corrected him. "Molly."

"I don't care if it was the bloody Queen! You can't just—you can't—oh, Sherlock!"

"Don't get huffy, John."

"I'm not huffy."

"Yes, you are. You're all twitchy. Look at your hand."

John looked down at his left hand, which was unconsciously opening and closing into a fist. Okay, so maybe he was a little agitated. Slightly.

"Fine," he snapped. "So I'm not keen on this idea."

"I don't see the problem," Sherlock replied coolly.

"Don't see—? Of course you don't see the problem. Why would I think that you don't see the problem?" John rambled, pacing across the sitting room.

"It's just sex," Sherlock offered.

"Just sex? Sherlock, have you ever had sex with a woman? No, don't answer that. I know you haven't. But have you given thought to the fact that this might be an issue in our relationship?" John asked.

"I don't see how one has bearing on the other. And I'm not romantically involved with Molly, and this is for the purpose of conception, so it will be different—"

"Different? I'm sorry, are you familiar with some sort of new age baby-making sex that I am unaware of? Because last time I checked, sex was still sex, no matter the intent."

"Of course it's different, it's for—"

"If you say 'it's for science', I swear to Christ I will punch you in the face."

Sherlock sighed with an exaggerated eye roll. "John," he drawled, "don't be tedious. The kind of sex—"

John held up a hand. "No, Sherlock. Just, no. It's no different. The how is not dependent on the why."

"Of course it is," Sherlock scoffed.

"You're wrong," John said flatly. "It doesn't matter why. The journey is the same, regardless of the destination. Think about this."

"I have thought about it." Sherlock's chin tipped in haughty defiance.

"Really thought about it?" John's eyebrow quirked. "Think about sex between us. Just think about it. In order for this to work, you're going to have to be naked."

"I don't see where you're going with—"

"Hear me out. You're going to have to be naked. Molly's going to have to be naked. You're going to have to touch her. She will touch you. You—"

"I am familiar with concept, thank you, John."

"Yes, but I think you're missing a crucial element here."

"Which is?" Sherlock replied, bored.

John gritted his teeth and forced out the words. "You're going to have to like it."

"_Oh._"

"Yes, 'oh'."

"I hadn't thought of that." Sherlock paused, and then collected himself. "No matter. It can be done. It's all a question of chemistry, isn't it? Shouldn't be difficult. Molly's attractive, isn't she? Pleasing to the eye. And it's somewhat instinctual. Aural and visual responses. Calculated tactile stimuli. The body should know what to do. I will simply focus my mind to the task at hand and all will be well. No," he said decidedly. "Shouldn't be difficult at all."

"For you, maybe," John muttered.

Sherlock frowned. "Now John—_oh_," he said suddenly. "I see." One of Sherlock's eyebrows arched in understanding. "You're jealous."

"What? Jealous?" John spluttered.

"Yes. Jealous." Sherlock's gaze pierced him. "You're afraid that I'm going to like it. That I'm going to like having sex with a woman so much it will….strain our relationship."

John stopped pacing and sat down in the chair, his fingers curling into the arms. "Won't it?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock rushed over, kneeling before him, and covered his hands with his own. "Oh, John," he sighed. "Nothing can change the way I feel about you. I love you. And it doesn't matter if I like it or not, because it doesn't change that I am with you. That I have made a commitment to you. Surely, you realize what we have is bigger than the physicality. I can't imagine a life without you as my husband. I don't want anyone else. Ever."

Sherlock's eyes held a world of promise and the clear blue depths were cooling to the fires that were burning within him.

"I just want you to acknowledge that this might be difficult for me."

"Of course," Sherlock smiled. "But in the end, won't it all be worth it?"

"I love you," John blurted.

"And I love you. With all my heart."

Sherlock leaned up and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It was soft and reassuring, and as the seconds ticked by, it grew hotter and more insistent, a tangible manifestation of the desire they shared.

Sherlock pulled back, eyes bright and sparkling. "Now," he exhaled. "Do I have your permission to have sex with Molly Hooper?"

John caressed his husband's cheek as his face broke into a wide grin. "Shag her blind, darling. Make us a baby."


End file.
